


Reload Saved File?

by Grandoverlord



Series: Inkstay Prompts [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, gratuitous parenthesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6837070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grandoverlord/pseuds/Grandoverlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ex-act-ly. Like, they weren’t even friends before they got together? How can you hope to have a good relationship if you don’t even like the other person?” Gon is impassioned by this, apparently, his hand gestures too large for his precarious position on the back of the couch. Then again, this was the boy who fished perched thirty feet above the ground. The trees in the swamp were notoriously slippery without a giant fish trying to drag you down-- the couch is probably nothing after that. Balance is hardly a problem for him (and it is always a problem for tilting, falling Killua) “You’ve got to have intimacy, and trust and friendship for a relationship to work, you know.”</p><p>"Yeah." Killua presses harder against the wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reload Saved File?

**Author's Note:**

> It's been five years. Killua wonders if things will ever be the same. Does he want them to be?

The television screen is a flare of light as the sun dies. The window curtain is pulled closed except for a single slit, letting in just one gasp of orange. Night creeps closer and Killua has goosebumps despite the heat. Shivers. Not because of what they’re watching (something mindless, does it matter?) but because it’s something _they_ are watching.

Gon’s face is an outline in the mostly-dark room. His sharp nose and light freckles (just across his nose, not his cheeks) are brought into relief under the pulsating light of the television. He knew that Gon could fixate on something with almost scary focus, but Killua hadn’t realized that it applied to this too. He hasn’t been able to get more than a couple of mutters and “watch the show, Killua”s out of him for an hour.

He still isn’t watching. He can’t _stop_ watching Gon. Gon’s hair is unusually soft right now, lying almost flat against his head, damp from his shower. A few strands fall in front of his ears and briefly he wonders what it would be like to brush them back, smooth Gon’s hair and lie his spiky head on his lap, run his fingers through those silky strands and play with them as the nonsensical show continued (he’s been thinking about it for half an hour). He might be able to focus then (not a chance).

Steeling himself, Killua forces his eyes back to the television. He has all the willpower in the world, has gone through things most people couldn’t dream up if they had nightmares every day for the rest of their lives, and he can’t control this. This ridiculous…infatuation.

A laugh track plays as someone says something—a man, looks just a little bit older than them. Sometimes Killua forgets that adults are only a few years older than them now. Being with Gon makes him remember what childhood felt like (being with Gon is forgetting) and he can’t help but feel fourteen years old again, palms sweating, heart racing(lungs screaming as he raggedly tries to hold together what’s left of his best friend)(his palms are still sweating).

Killua awkwardly shifts on the couch that feels too small, trying not to encroach on the careful gap between them (that feels too large). He tries to cast away those traitorous thoughts, the ones that remind him that things are different now, that they’re both different people, (that Killua hasn’t changed at all and it’s Gon, it’s all Gon and it’s always been Gon). They’re friends ( _friends, Killua_ ) again and that’s all that matters. They’re back together and this humidity-soaked summer feels so much like the ones before that Killua feels the distance between them like an ache (heartbreak is supposed to hurt { _shut up_ }).

The—film? Show?—fades out to black and credits start to roll. And just like that the spell is broken, Gon’s eyes turning away from the screen and to Killua. He feels himself start to sweat under that gaze, so much more guarded now than it used to be. His rich brown eyes are still warm, but there is a shadow that overhangs them, bleeding into bags underneath (but Gon is supposed to be the sun and Killua could be his moon and the sky has lost its favorite star)

  
“I’m glad you’re back, Killua,” Gon says, and it’s Killua’s favorite words, the ones Gon’s been insisting on saying for the whole week. It doesn’t make things better (can anything makes things better?) but it sets something warm seeping down Killua’s chest, syrup, filling the cavity he’s sure has gotten larger since they last saw each other.

“I’m just glad that Aunt Mito’s cooking is as delicious as I remember.” He brushes it off (he has to) but Gon smiles. And it’s not a full-toothed grin, but it’s familiar and understanding (since when was Gon the one that could read people?). Killua shrugs and looks over his shoulder.

With the television off, it’s quiet and dark. The sun has completed its descent, hidden underneath a blanket of earth until it seeks the sky again.

“Really, though, Killua. You being here means a lot to me. I know I’m not the same as I used to be—and—“ Here Gon sounds odd and Killua can’t stop the movement that makes his head snap back, his eyes focus on his friend. Gon’s gaze is steady, intense, and Killua is shaken. He can’t keep that kind of eye contact. “I can tell you’re not comfortable here. You’re allowed to go if you want. I won’t keep you on Whale Island and I won’t be offended if you go back to traveling. But I really appreciate—“

“Gon, are you stupid?” The words are out before Killua can help them, and he covers his hand to stop a laugh at the boy’s expression. He had stopped dead in his tracks, drawing his eyebrows together. He hadn’t expected to be interrupted. (some things don’t change, maybe)

“You just seem so…distant,” Gon leads. Killua silences him with a look (a new skill). Gon bites his lip.

(I flew across the entire continent, sailed out to this reclusive-ass island, hiked here all the way from the port, and you think I don’t want to be here? Whale Island isn’t my favorite place, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t come for the fishing, idiot.) (that’s what he would say.) (He doesn’t.)

“I’m fine.”

Gon purses his lips, his forehead still wrinkled and he’s not satisfied with that answer (Killua knows this because he knows Gon no matter what). The Gon Killua knew would have pushed it, though. This one just tilts his head and looks at him in that odd, almost animal way. His eyes are wide, trying to see through the dim light and only then does Killua realize what they’re doing, sitting facing each other in the dark, talking in low voices. What would it look like if Mito walked in?

Scrambling back, Killua hops lightly off the couch and flicked on the lights. The fluorescent overhead flicker on halfheartedly.

“So,” Gon says, “what did you think of the show? I was super surprised by the twist with the fake wedding, honestly. I thought they were going in a totally different direction.”

“Yeah.” Killua leans against the wall, hands pressed behind him. The wall is cool, though his hands are still sweating. Is it the heat? He presses a little more firmly. “I thought it was pretty good.”

Gon nods vigorously, gratuitous affirmation. Instead of sitting on the couch like a normal human being he props himself right on the edge of the back, no longer facing the television. His legs touch the ground, even from that position and Killua wonders if he or Leorio is taller these days (Leorio who he _hadn’t_ lost touch with for five years).

“But the couple was just over the top, don’t you think?”

Killua’s response shrivels in his throat, confining him to a nod. “I think I smell dinner.”

Gon sniffs. Killua should have known better than to make his excuse with a smell. “Twenty more minutes. She’s still got to add in the—“ he pauses—“ginger, onions, and eggs.”

“You’re a freak-- you know that, right?”

“Coming from you!” Gon grins and Killua is taken aback and the nostalgia is a physical tugging within him. They lost something good, but they can still have something, can’t they? (If Killua doesn’t mess it up, that is.) “Ugh, but I hate when shows force romances into them—like, there was no chemistry between the two of them at all.”

“Mm.” And they’re back to this. “The two of them were pretty vile.”

“Ex-act-ly. Like, they weren’t even friends before they got together? How can you hope to have a good relationship if you don’t even like the other person?” Gon is impassioned by this, apparently, his hand gestures too large for his precarious position on the back of the couch. Then again, this was the boy who fished perched thirty feet above the ground. The trees in the swamp were notoriously slippery without a giant fish trying to drag you down-- the couch was probably nothing after that. Balance was hardly a problem for him (and it was always a problem for tilting, falling Killua) “You’ve got to have intimacy, and trust and friendship for a relationship to work, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“Like us!” Killua forces himself in the wall (he’s always been good at disappearing so why can’t he do it now) and furrows his eyebrows like he knows he’s supposed to. “I mean, we couldn’t be friends if we didn’t trust each other, right? We’re closer than those two, and they just got married!” Gon gestures at the screen, oblivious in his annoyance to the lines drawn across Killua’s face as he fights to keep it even, smooth, placid (not twisted, no scrunched nose, no wavering lips).

“I guess,” he finally says, and that’s it. Gon can sense that something’s bothering Killua, he’s sure of it, but he’ll never guess what it is (nothing should be bothering him in the first place though so that’s okay). After the second stretches out, Killua is afraid he’ll never say it if he doesn’t now. It’s such a small step, but he needs to know. “Are we even that close, anymore, though? We haven’t seen each other in so long…” he made a noncommittal hand gesture.

“Are you stupid?” Gon asks, as incredulous as Killua had been before. Even his tone mirrors and Killua can’t help but smile at those familiar words being thrown back at him with the full weight of Gon’s natural affectation. “Best friends are friends forever.”

Killua snorts.

“You don’t believe me,” Gon whines, leaning forwards so far Killua’s amazed that he doesn’t fall off the couch. Killua turns his head to hide his smile, showing it only to the audience of the empty hall. He can feel it echo back at him, feel the secret grin resound in his chest just like everything else. “We didn’t see each other for a couple of years—“ Gon starts, and Killua feels the smile die, suddenly and swiftly snuffed by the reminder.  
“But that doesn’t mean anything, not really! We’ve got our whole lives to be friends, Killua. What’s a few years compared to the rest of our lives?”

“Long,” Killua says. It’s quiet, muttered once more to the hall rather than to Gon. But Gon hears it (hears him) and Killua isn’t watching (for once) but he knows (he always knows) that it will make him unhappy to do so.

As always, he can’t keep his hungry eyes away (he can go days without eating), and they find their way back to Gon with alarming speed. The fact that Gon is standing not a foot away from him makes it easier.

Gon’s all bulk now, his thin arms laced now wiry hard and his legs beginning to show the strength hidden within them. Killua would never admit it, but he likes being shorter than Gon now, the top of his head at Gon’s nose-level. But it means that when Gon is this close he can’t look him in the eyes (not that he would anyway). He tries to take a step back, bring back the all-too-important space that he needs (to cross) to keep between them.

He’s forgotten about the wall behind him, though. There’s nowhere to go and Gon is _so close_.

“But we’re together now. That’s what counts, right? Today is the day that makes tomorrow.”

Gon never had understood personal space, or how much Killua (hated) needed it. “Yeah,” he laughs. “Anyway, we should turn the T.V off. It’s going to commercials soon.”

“Not until I hear you say it.” Gon’s voice is firm, stubborn as the kid whose body he’s outgrown. “Say that we’re always going to be together.”

(Killua learned early what a lost battle was, when to run, when to give up. It’s what he’s good at.)

With a sigh and an eye roll, Killua pretends he has a choice. “We’re always going to be together, you doof. Now let me go.” He taps Gon lightly on the chest with a fist, carefully making sure not to make the contact last longer than it has to (but he has to make the contact. He has to).

As he moves, he is stopped by Gon’s solid mass crushing his body against his. (This is what Gon feels like) And it’s a different hug than the kind Mito gives, or even Alluka. It’s the most familiar thing in the world, and Killua never wants it to end. The heat—the summer is warm but this is different—the firm muscle and areas of give—so different from when they were children--, the skin to skin contact that he’s always associated with Gon and never realized he’s missed—it comes rushing back to him in a second.

He takes a deep breath as those strong arms wrap around him—can he trust himself to hug back, to give in to this little temptation? He can never resist Gon’s friendliness (that’s what he’s resisting, he insists) and this is no different. What is different is whether or not he chooses to reciprocate. His mind rushes through the possibilities, the outcomes, the probabilities. As he’s thinking, his arms come to wrap around Gon’s back.

And this time, he doesn’t push it away. (He’s done pushing things awayl.)

Killua buries his face in the juncture of Gon’s neck and breathes in that scent, that home that nothing else has ever been and smiles.

“I missed you.”

And if the hug lasts a little too long, neither of them says anything about it. If Gon notices damp spot on his shirt from where Killua rests his head, he doesn’t mention it. If Killua ignores Aunt Mito’s call until he hears her storming up the stairs—well, that goes without saying.

So many words go unsaid, but that’s okay. Because silence is the only starting point. Because they have the rest of their lives. Because they have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> So, that was the first fic I've written for this fandom but I'm hoping to write a lot more because I adore this dynamic. I'm not sure if the parenthesis worked out but that's how I've always imagined Killua's internal monologue so grammar can go suck my metaphorical dick. Also! I'm going to go fling myself into the sun for causing my children pain like this! Bye!


End file.
